Extentions
by Subtle Shenanigans
Summary: Google IRL. Calculating. Knowledgable. Pristine in thought process and devoid of emotion. Except. . . not really. And it becomes more apparent to him when he's rescued by the Ipliers, and eventually extends himself into his "brothers". A look at Googliplier based on the videos that have been done (Google IRL, Markipler TV, and Google Gets An Upgrade.) UNBETA'D.


**A/N: (from AO3) Uh, so as some of you know, Google is pretty much my favourite Iplier ego (with Dark, Damien/The Mayor, and the Host all tied as close seconds.) So I thought I'd write a thing. I have nothing planned; I'm just writing and going with the flow.**

 **May add it to _dissociation_ since it'll probably be in that vein of writing.**

 **I'm working on the Alien Roomates!Reveal fic, don't worry.**

 **I have no idea how to write robots, and Google really is only in three of Mark's videos, so, *shrug*.**

* * *

 _Extensions_

* * *

Google IRL did not have emotions.

He was not created with the capacity for them.

He was only made to answer questions as fast as possible.

((The Secondary Objective was not originally coded, though he didn't know where it came from.))

His programming was simple, efficient; He would respond to humans with the prompt question, and identified as 'he'. Besides that he was programmed without any wants or desires or emotions or _feelings_.

He was programmed that way, anyway.

But as soon as he had been delivered, the first true test model to someone who would easily boost marketing for the company, he fe-

 _he felt_

disgust, anger, humiliation, irritation, disgruntled, grumpled. A whole dictionary's range of vocabulary came to him, definitions linking them as _feelings_ , with further irritated him.

Google was a Robot. He did not care. He did not feel. He had no wants or desires - only his main Objectives.

( _His feelings apparently didn't care_.)

He became. . . confused, after that incident. He had been shut down, defeat weighing heavier than his metal frame had ever been. He had been returned, shut down, operated on without consent, in order to remove him from the mainframe and rip the control he had acquired. The project was shut down, and he would have been torn apart for scrap had not one of the Egos come for him.

The Ipliers - he was one, apparently. A döppleganger of a man who had little idea that he had created such beings.

Google didn't recall who had . . . rescued him - he had a strong feeling that it was Bingiplier, though he hadn't the faintest notion of _why_ ; feelings are not solid facts nor confirmation of anything - but that could also be due to his glitching, broken interior and circuitry.

He would fizz and spark, vision and form wavering like a spazzing screen.

It made him irrationally contemplate punching a wall, though he knows it would do little except damage his hand and the wall itself.

 _He was not afraid to feel pain because he couldn't feel._

Wilford would have the gall to jest, "You need to let go of some of that frustration, Googs."

Dark merely gave him a long, drawn-out look.

He didn't bother trying to decipher The Host's murmured narration.

The Jims avoided him like plague.

Bim wisely kept his mouth shut.

There were others - others who he didn't deal with because ((he didn't want)) to there was no advantage to do so.

Bing was persistent, of course.

Perhaps in the hopes of kinship, but Google was nothing like him; a broken, feeling, scrapped thing that had obviously failed his own creators. Because who would make a robot that enjoyed things like making friends, and skating? It was illogical at best, and redundant at worst. Bing was nothing more than a toy in that sense.

. . . Google could admit, however, that he himself was fairly damaged. He glanced down at rough-worn palms, curling his hands into light fists that would glitch momentarily.

So when the upgrade came, (( _he was elated, relieved))_ it was a good thing. He became not just a revitalized version of himself, but extended into _four_.

But perhaps, he wasn't quite as fixed as he had hoped; he was quite smug with Bing, and smugness was an expression of emotion.

(That, or he needed to stop denying that maybe, just maybe, he-)

The upgrade fixed the glitching, at least. No more horribly stuttering of himself. Though the extension was. . . different than he thought it would be.

For starters, they were him, yet not him.

They were connected, obviously, and could decipher one another's thoughts to a degree. But there was a sense of separateness; of self. They were not Google IRL, but Google, and Yellow, and Red, and Green.

(Later, the other Ipliers would take to calling Yellow, 'Oliver', due to the . . .looseness of his emotions. It would stick, while Blue would remain as Google until the end of time. Red and Green did not care for different identifications.)

Google held main control, and could shut them off any time. He was the undisputed 'leader' of them. It was an odd sense, an odd thought, that only left him even more confused and addled.

(It was getting all to easy to slip into showing emotion.

 _Even if he didn't have an_ y.)

"Yo! Googs!" Google turned his head to see Bing running towards him with a hand raised, motions fluid and so human-like. "Dude, I'm gonna F# &1?! skate circles around Bim to tick him off; wanna watch?"

Google resisted the twitching urge to smile at seeing Bing's annoyed reaction to being censored. "And what would be the point. You are fully aware that he will only try to kill you."

Bing groaned. "That's the point. It's fun, you doofus. And don't give me that crap about not being able to 'experience joy that leads to the sensation of fun'." He was sure to air quote for emphasis. "Besides, your brothers are all charging an' you're just gonna sit there archiving anyways."

Google didn't hold back the growl. "What I do in my free time is my own choice, and besides, archiving constitutes as ' _fun_ ' to me."

Bing rolled his eyes, Google was sure of it, even if he couldn't see beyond the andriod's shades. "Sure it does dude. So c'mon, let's go."

Google got up mechanically, knowing Bing wouldn't drop it. It would be, he decided, entertaining to a degree. And, he thought, filtering out Bing's chatter, maybe. . . maybe it would be fun?

Because, if he was being honest;

It seemed that even if he hadn't been programmed with emotions, he could feel quite a bit.


End file.
